Portraits - Ewa

I woke up this morning and, lathering my face with shaving cream, was shocked. I saw colorful flames surrounding my head in the mirror. It was impossible. This was the beginning of my story "The Day of the Fire." Fiction can't exist in the real world! It's already happened! Déjà vu? But why? For what purpose? There's no smoke without fire, and no rose without thorns. It haunted me all day, it bothered me, it kept me focused. That evening, I grabbed Parker. Yes, I have to develop the fates of the main characters, dedicate a separate piece to each. They deserve it. Dear readers, you'll find the familiar threads from "The Day of the Fire," but supplemented with a broader portrayal of the characters from that story. The idea for the "Portraits" series was born. So, let's get started.

I met Ewa four years ago. I never would have guessed that this constantly smiling woman could hold such a burden of tragedies. Every moment spent with her revealed a new secret. Fascinated, I wondered how she managed to maintain such a warm relationship with the world around her. With her appearance, I felt a sense of physical warmth, contentment, and joy at being there again. Her warm, expansive heart was open to her own children, strangers' children, and everyone around her. It was filled with love for nature, for the swan that flew to the pond every year, for the blackbird singing outside the window, for the green leaves on the trees, for the smallest blade of grass emerging from the earth. Ewa radiated love, despite all the adversities of fate, which had not spared her. Learning about her story, I realized how profoundly childhood experiences impact adult life. She was born some time ago (it's not proper for a woman to count her years) somewhere in Poland. The exact place of birth will add nothing to this story. It suffices to know that the place was surrounded by towering spruces. The roof of the house was shaded by the branches of a spreading oak. With her first breath, she inhaled the scent of pine needles and the scent of calamus from a nearby pond. Birds sang lullabies to her as she lay in her cradle in front of the forester's porch. Leaves shielded her body from the sun's rays. She grew up surrounded by nature, a child of the forest. From a young age, she helped support the family flock. She cared for her younger siblings, a male rascal. Although a child herself, she was also a "woman," and that required responsibility. Her older brother was rarely home. He was at school during the day and worked on neighboring farms in the afternoons.

"Have you changed the baby's diapers yet?

" "Have you fed the little one yet?"

She heard almost daily. And yet, she still needed care herself. She also had to care for the family's main breadwinner, Spotted. Spotted, a black-and-white cow, provided milk for her little brother. She even enjoyed taking her out for grazing. She found the greenest grass for her.

- Eat, my dear, this grass will make delicious milk.

She dug her wheels into the grass and could devote herself to what she loved most. She knew every squirrel in the area, every hedgehog. Deer approached her without fear. They were her friends. She had endless conversations with them; they were her playmates, the confidants of her childhood secrets. During one such conversation, she heard the terrifying bellow of a cow. Her heart fluttered like a frightened bird. A spotted owl! Anxiety gave her wings. Eight-year-old legs trampled pine cones as they raced toward the source of the cattle alarm. What she saw would be etched in her memory forever. The spotted owl, or rather only its neck and horned head, was slowly sinking into the swamp. The unbearable roar frightened all the birds in the area. With each passing moment, inch by inch, the black water swallowed her. Ewa was transfixed. Her eyes widened in horror as she watched the spectacle. She wanted to run to the rescue, but her legs wouldn't obey her commands. Not only her legs, but her entire figure froze, absorbed in the macabre spectacle. Only her muzzle and horns were visible above the surface of the swamp. The last roar faded into a gurgling of mud. The silence screamed horribly in the child's ears. Soon, a new sound replaced it, a terrible sound, half scream, half Eva's cry. It was filled with despair, fear, and immense pain. All the emotions she had suppressed until then finally found an outlet. The world collapsed, or rather, drowned along with her cow. She moved forward. Away from this terrible place, away from the image that still lingered before her eyes.

She ran, trees blocking her path.

"It's your fault, you didn't watch out."

She ran, bramble thorns tugging at her dress.

"Bad girl, bad child."

The birds' cries spread the news to the entire forest.

"She drowned the cow. Eva drowned the cow."

She couldn't escape these voices. They chased her, persecuted her, mocked her.

"Run, I have to run. I have no reason to go back home."

And she ran, who knew where. Just farther, farther away. They found her after two days, a few kilometers from the forester's lodge. She didn't respond to people's voices. She hugged the trunk of a spruce, and only with great difficulty did they manage to tear her away.

The days of doom arrived at home. Her mother's endless reproaches deepened her sense of guilt. The events that followed further confirmed her belief that this was punishment for her negligence.

A month after the incident, the family was reduced by its youngest member. Kur, people said, had strangled the little one.

Several years passed. Ewa stood by the grave again. Gravediggers were finishing filling the grave. Only she and her two-year-older brother, Andrzej, remained. Within a week, their parents abandoned them. First, their father, shot by a poacher. Now the mother, whose heart couldn't bear the personal tragedy. Andrzej put his arm around her.

"Come on, Ewa. We're going back."

They were five kilometers from home. The old forester's lodge stood far from the nearest buildings. She was afraid of returning. Those old walls filled her with a certain dread. The house, which had been bustling with life just moments ago, now seemed abandoned. The silence was terrifying. Even the birds had fallen silent. The birds that had awakened her daily with their songs were now silent, deepening the gloomy mood. Andrzej didn't say a word. He walked beside her, lost in thought, lost in his own thoughts. Once inside, he merely said,

"I'm going home."

Then he disappeared upstairs. She felt even more alone. She didn't know how they would cope. After all, she was only finishing elementary school, and Andrzej was studying at a technical school. Suddenly, a commotion came from upstairs. She jumped on a stool and ran to her brother's room. What she saw momentarily froze her. Her brother, her beloved brother, was looking down at her, his head cocked to the side. A belt was tied to the attic beam, swinging her beloved brother.

"Andrzej! No! Not you!" she screamed

shrilly, lifting the overturned chair.

"My love! Don't leave me alone!"

She tried to lift him by his feet, but her frail, weak arms were no match. She ran downstairs for a knife. She wanted to cut the belt off, but it was too high. She tossed around the room in despair.

She didn't know what to do, who to call for help. There wasn't a living soul for several kilometers. She ran out of the forester's lodge into the dark forest. The trees, so familiar until then, now filled her with dread. They rustled menacingly, stretching out their branch tentacles, trying to block her path. Mist seeped in from the nearby marshes, soon enveloping her in a bluish shroud. She

never returned to the forester's lodge. She wandered among people. For a corner to sleep, for a morsel of food, she helped with the household chores. She finished school, then vocational school. She began her adult life early. She moved to Poland, changing places, escaping the recurring memories. There was no escaping it; guilt always followed her. And finally, one day, a moment of utmost honesty, brought relief and freedom from the nightmare. She screamed out the story, cried, and shivers ran through us, the listeners. Łaciatka drifted away in a torrent of words and tears, and with her, the nightmares of childhood vanished